Empty Chairs
by slashbutterfly
Summary: Tony and Abby both find themselves unexpectedly alone on Friday night. Angst, slash, femslash - McNozzo and Zabby. Songfic to Don McLean.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N: Warning: Contains heartbreak and more-than-mild angst. Just to clarify, there is no Tabby in this story. Pairings are McNozzo and Zabby, in case you didn't read the summary. Assumes established relationships. If you don't like, don't read. Songfic to Don McLean's "Empty Chairs", which is beautiful – go and listen to it! As per usual, none of the characters or lyrics belong to me. Only the (fairly limited) plot is mine.)

_I feel the trembling tingle of a sleepless night_

_Creep through my fingers and the moon is bright_

_Beams of blue come flickering through my window pane_

_Like gypsy moths that dance around a candle flame_

Tony gazed out from his window across the streets, unseeing eyes passing over the lighted windows and cars coming home for the night. A police vehicle sped past, but its sirens and blue lights went unnoticed by the solitary figure standing at his window, one hand against the cold glass, lost in melancholy contemplation.

He hadn't thought he would be alone tonight. He'd come in as usual, humming cheerfully, vaguely listening out for the sounds of his lover moving about. But there were none. This didn't worry him at first. After all, maybe he'd gone to get take-out or a movie or something. It was the beginning of the weekend, and they both needed to wind down.

An hour went by with no sudden appearance, and Tony began to fret. He did care about Tim – very deeply, in fact – he just… wasn't very good at showing it, that was all. In his over-active imagination, pictures began to form, of Tim lying injured in some back alley somewhere, unable to phone, or even call for help. No matter that he was far too sensible to walk the back streets at night, or that he was a trained and most probably armed NCIS agent. None of this mattered to Tony in the heat of the moment, as he thought of Tim hurting, bleeding, dead…

_No_, he told himself. _Don't think like that. Where's the usual DiNozzo optimism?_

So it was that he finally began to look around himself and take note of his surroundings. And things began to jump out at him. It was all too… tidy. No nerdy books lying around. No pile of ironed shirts on the chair by the door that he could swear had been there when he left for work.

He got up, and started to actively search, to look for things that were not there. Nothing under the sofa, on the table. Nothing but his own crap. Even in the fridge. Only his own rubbish was there, shelved haphazardly against all health and safety advice. And on the bottom shelf, a glass dish holding the remainder of last night's dinner. They'd been going to heat it up and have it tonight with a bottle of wine – Tim's wine – that was suddenly conspicuous in its absence.

Frantic now, he tore through the flat, searching for any trace of Tim, anything at all. The bathroom held only his own essentials, now. One toothbrush, one razor, endless bottles of cologne, but all belonging solely to him. His shower gel, his hair products – how Tim had laughed at the array of bottles when he'd first moved in. But that hurt to think about, now.

Finally to the bedroom. He hardly dared go in, wanting to believe with all his heart that it would be just as they'd left it that morning, rumpled sheets, clothes strewn about in the haste to dress for work. _And why the rush?_ a voice at the back of his mind chided. _Because you'd been busy? Or because you'd teased him about his morning routine once too often?_

If only to still his conscience, he shoved open the door with more violence that he'd meant. It banged against the wall with a hollow thud, rebounding onto his still outstretched hand, but he didn't hear the noise or feel the slam. It was as he'd known it would be all along. The bed was still a mess; there were still clothes on the floor; but they were all his. The doors of the wardrobe were still open, swinging gently in the breeze from the window, and though he could see at first glance that it was half-empty, he began to throw all the clothes out all the same, hoping against hope for some last hint of his Tim.

At the very bottom, under old shoes and ties and unopened boxes holding God-knows-what, he found what he was looking for. A plain white shirt, rumpled and creased and unworn for months, and yet it somehow soothed his fears that the past year had been some strange figment of his imagination. The shirt and the dish in the fridge were all he had left to hold onto, and he did, clutching the garment to his chest as a drowning man might clutch a life-ring. The thin cotton was soon soaked through with bitter tears, but it made no difference to Tony.

At last, emptied of all emotion, he stood up. He wasn't hungry, but some impulse told him to eat, even if it was purely automatic. Like some kind of zombie, he drifted through his apartment till he reached the kitchen, going through the motions with no thought whatsoever. It was only when he sat down that he realised he had placed two plates full of steaming food, two forks, and two glasses of water onto to table. He would have burst into tears again, but he had nothing left. Instead he stood up, reached for the shirt, which had been hanging over the back of his chair, and made his way over to the window.

For no reason at all, or so it seemed to him, he began to pull on the shirt, carefully sliding his arms into the sleeves. It did not occur to him until he was buttoning it up that Tim was not the same shape as him – and by then, it was too late. The fabric, already stretched taut across his broad shoulders, split as the strain became too much. The back of the shirt ripped right down the middle, but Tony did not hear the noise. He was in a world of fog and blurred images, muffled by his own automatic barricades, seeing little clearly and hearing less.

So it was that Agent Anthony DiNozzo spent his Friday evening not out on the town as his colleagues suspected, nor snuggled up in front of the television as he had planned, but standing by an open window in a ruined shirt two sizes too small.

_And I wonder if you know_

_That I never understood_

_That although you said you'd go_

_Until you did_

_I never thought you would_

(A/N: Like? (Please say somebody does; I've poured my heart and soul into this!) If anyone does like this, I will continue it. Next chapter is already written (from Abby's POV), and will be uploaded, pending reviews (hint hint)! As I've planned it, should be about four or five chapters in total.)


	2. Chapter 2

(A/N: It has to be said, I'm not entirely happy with this myself, but I think I have done all I can - and it's quite good, overall. There will be another Abby chapter at some point, if I have cause to continue the story. I hope I do, because I like it, even if no-one else does! Usual disclaimer, not mine, blah blah.)

_Moonlight used to bathe the contours of your face_

_While chestnut hair fell all around the pillow case_

_And the fragrance of your flowers rest beneath my head_

_A sympathy bouquet left with the love that's dead_

As soon as Abby stepped inside the door, she knew. She could feel her not there. When she was at home, there was always something about the place, an ambience, a feeling. Now it was gone, and everything felt empty and stale. The black furniture, formerly her Goth paradise, felt oppressive, and the walls were beginning to close in.

Avoiding the sofa where they had been cuddled up only the evening before, she slumped cross-legged to the floor, not even bothering to remove her chain-covered boots. Her pigtails swung with the sudden movement, and reaching up she wrenched them out. They were no longer appropriate. She'd always worn them, but recently they had been for a certain person. Ziva had said she'd liked them, and ever since there had been a certain significance about them. It reminded her of something she'd studied in high school – "For whom did you tie up your hair, with simple elegance?" Remembering it now, she would have laughed, if she hadn't felt like crying. How she'd hated that poem at the time. Who knew it would return to haunt her now?

There was a sharp knock at the door, and she got to her feet shakily, still clinging on to the thought that it could be her, just possibly. Pulling it open to find the pizza delivery boy standing there did nothing for her already fragile state of mind. He looked hopeful when he saw her – normally she would have stopped to chat, and flirt a little. After all, what harm could it do? But not today. Today was different. So she took the box, smiled sadly, and closed the door on his expectant face. It should have hurt her to turn him away, but she felt nothing at all.

Taking the box through to the kitchen, it dawned on her that she had not ordered pizza. She hadn't even thought about food from the moment she had returned to find herself alone. Not only that, but it was smaller than she was accustomed to. _That's because you're not used to eating alone, isn't it? _goaded her inner thoughts. Shaking them off, she seated herself at the table, and opened the box.

Taped to the cardboard lid was a piece of paper, folded in half, and labelled "Abby" in an all too familiar hand. Tentatively peeling it away, she opened it to find a letter undeniably from the one person she most longed and dreaded to hear from. She began to scan it, barely able to see through a sudden film of tears.

Abby,

I know what you must be thinking. I am sorry to do this to you – I do not mean to hurt you. That is the last thing I want to do. But I know that I must do this, for you and myself and for us.

You know that I am not good with my emotions – I am maybe not "in touch" with them as you are. I never meant to fall in love. There is a song in that vein, is there not? You will know what I mean, I think. But that is not my point.

You have heard me say this many times before, but I do not know if you ever believed me. Abigail, you are too good for me. You deserve better than this. You deserve someone who can make you happy as you should be, who can love you with their whole heart and never hurt you as I have done too many times.

Because, you see, I can never love you as you love me. I do not know how to love. It was not part of my teaching. There was no love in my childhood. There are so many people who can do better than me. McGee, for one. You must know that he has never got over you. I have seen the way he looks at you. Maybe he should be the one to make you happy.

And it is also for myself that I must do this. I am sorry if this makes you see me as cowardly or selfish, but I do not want to get hurt. I had always been afraid that you would find that other person whilst we were still together. I did not want to tell you because I know how you dislike my paranoia. But still, my pride could not take that. I have opened up to you, and I feel exposed. I think perhaps love is not for me.

I know I can never apologise enough for this great injustice I am doing you. I can only hope that one day you will realise that it is for the best. Abigail Sciuto, you will be always in my heart.

Ziva

By the time she finished reading, the ink had become illegible, blurred and running all over the thin paper. She stood, not knowing what she did any more, thinking only of the long night ahead, and alone. Unsteadily, she shuffled into her bedroom, walking into the closed door at first try. Her coffin was now in a corner, and a double bed, bought a long time ago at Ziva's request, took centre stage. It was made perfectly, the pillows placed just so, and – but what was that? Leaning closer, she saw a single black rose between the pillows, half-hidden by the sheets of the same hue. At this, her legs gave out underneath her, and she fell onto the bed, lying in an ungainly heap with the flower in one outstretched hand, sobbing her heart out.

_And I wonder if you know_

_That I never understood_

_That although you said you'd go_

_Until you did_

_I never thought you would_

(A/N: Any thoughts?)


	3. Chapter 3

(A/N: Shorter, and a little confusing, possibly - shifting tenses. I hope it doesn't bother anyone; it's just how it came out.)

_Never thought the words you said were true_

_Never thought you said just what you meant_

_Never knew how much I needed you_

_Never thought you'd leave_

_Until you went_

Tony woke slowly and painfully. He was lying sprawled on his bed, fully dressed, with no memory of making it to his bedroom the previous night at all. Instinctively he rolled over and reached out for the warm body that should have been stretched out next to him, but all he found was a cold, empty space.

Then it all came back to him. Coming home last night to a strangely quiet apartment; the initial panic; and the final acceptance of the bleak fact that Tim had finally done what he'd been threatening to do for quite some time now. He had left, taking everything with him, save a forgotten and unwanted shirt that Tony was now wearing.

He knew he should get up, get changed, have some breakfast, but the prospect of a lonely bowl of cereal in front of crap Saturday morning TV did not appeal. He hadn't woken up at home alone for weeks. So he arranged himself more comfortably and lay back, trying to submerge himself in pleasant memories, and pretend just for a while that his world was not falling apart around him.

He thought of the beginning, the cautious advances, the eventual laying bare of the facts, and the surprise and amazement when they found their shameful feelings were requited. He'd had to bring himself to accept that he did have feelings for his very male colleague, who was no less than McGee: McGee who he constantly picked on for having no girlfriend; McGee who he lorded over daily, taking for granted his technological expertise; McGee who he privately thought of as Tim, and couldn't help imagining what he would like to do to him on that desk… And when it turned out that McGee – Tim – had been feeling the same way, he was beside himself. There was Rule 12, of course, but they'd both agreed very early on that Rule 12 could fuck off. It wasn't as though they flaunted it; on the contrary, they were very careful to keep their hands off each other at work _(except for that one time in the lift…) _

It was hard, of course, keeping it a secret from those closest to them, especially Gibbs, with his eagle-eyed powers of observation; but somehow they had managed. Tony thought that Abby maybe suspected, but they both trusted her not to tell anyone. Besides, she would have come to them to confirm her suspicions first. So they'd carried on in their roles, both fitting neatly into their respective groves; McGee as the team's lovable geek, at the bottom of the pecking order, and Tony as the arrogant chauvinist, lofty in his knowledge that he was Gibbs' right-hand man, and flaunting it over the others.

That was what had started this whole mess, of course. At first he had toned it down, practically stopped his endless sniping at McGee; but then he began to get odd looks from Ziva, Abby, even Gibbs. They'd talked about it, and agreed that Tony should act normal – but not _too_ normal, teasing McGee just enough to be above suspicion, but not so much that it hurt. He'd thought he was doing a good job, though it had hurt to say anything even remotely insensitive towards his lover.

But that was at the start, and over the ensuing months he had stopped noticing Tim's hurt looks and silences. It wasn't deliberate; he just had to keep reminding himself of that, or he would never be able to live with himself. Even at home, to his horror, he had on many occasions found himself making a cutting remark that would earn him the cold shoulder from his partner until he finally realised what he'd said, and apologised profusely.

The real problems began when he stopped noticing, and simply had to be told. Tony was not famed for his subtlety, but he prided himself on a certain level of tact. Losing that when it mattered… well, he didn't know what it meant, but it wasn't good.

It got to the point where Tim would be telling him two or three times an evening, quite sharply, to "stop being DiNozzo", as he put it. All would be forgiven when they went to bed, of course, although towards the end Tim would, more often than not, roll over to the other side of the bed, or sleep on the sofa, leaving Tony cold and alone.

It was true; he had been threatening to leave if Tony didn't start being a little nicer to him. It had started as a joke, but only now was he beginning to see that it had progressed and become a hell of a lot more real than that. In retrospect it was all so clear, now; he could see that look in Tim's eyes, like a wary puppy accustomed to being kicked, just waiting for the next blow. He hated himself for doing that to him, his beloved McGeek.

Goddammit, how could Tim do this to him? Tony _needed _him. He didn't know how much he relied on him until he just wasn't there any more. By this stage Tony was sitting upright, resting on the headboard, head in hands, wondering how he could have been so stupid. Because there was more to it than needing and wanting. He… he loved him.

Anthony DiNozzo was in love with Timothy McGee. And it was only now he'd lost him that he was coming to realise it.

(A/N: Like? Hate?)


	4. Chapter 4

(A/N: Apologies in advance to be uploading two chapters at once. Everything I really want to say is in the note at the beginning of the next chapter, since it was only when I went to upload that one that I realised I hadn't put this one up! It's a while since I wrote this, so I hope it's okay.)

_Morning comes and morning goes with no regret_

_But evening brings the memories I can't forget_

_Empty rooms that echo as I climb the stairs _

_And empty clothes that drape and fall on empty chairs_

Abby had spent the weekend desperately trying to figure out what on earth she was going to do. Unsurprisingly, work was her problem. Having given up on practising her poker face in front of the mirror, she had wracked her brains for hours, to no avail. It wasn't as though she could even appear publicly upset by what had happened. After all, her colleagues knew nothing of her relationship with Ziva, when it had been a relationship; so they would also know nothing of the break-up, and would expect her to be herself on Monday morning, bright and cheerful and Abbylike.

In the end she phoned Ducky, close to tears. She was not entirely surprised to discover that he knew of what had been going on between her and Ziva, or had at least guessed at it. He was not a friend of Gibbs for nothing. So she had talked, and he had listened, and she had cried, and at the end of it all, with no words or tears left in her head, he had spoken.

"I'm so sorry. The two of you are such good friends now, and it has made me glad to see you getting along so well after your somewhat rocky start."

She had laughed at that, remembering her hatred of the Israeli for taking Kate's place.

"I'm afraid there is not much counsel I can offer on this point," he continued, as her heart sank. "I'm not entirely sure of the ins and outs of these things. What I would say is that you should come in on Monday as usual, go to your lab, and play your music. I doubt it would improve your spirits much if the whole team found out accidentally. Jethro being Jethro will undoubtedly notice something is up, but I should hope that he will have enough tact to let it go for once."

He sighed, and carried on, as she listened for some glimmer of hope.

"Abigail, you are going to have to face her at some point. Sooner or later she will be sent down with some evidence or request that she cannot refuse. Be polite, be civil, and do not burst into tears, however hard it may be. You and I both know she is not an expert at dealing with her emotions; from what you say, that is what caused this in the first place. Just talk to her if you can, but in the end you may have to accept that this is what she wants, and let it go. It will be hard, but I know you. You are a fighter. Be strong, my dear."

She had thanked him, knowing that what he said was true, but all the while wishing that there was some other way. Leaving NCIS never crossed her mind for so much as a moment; cut up as she was, she would not abandon her friends and the work that she loved over a failed relationship. So she put it out of her mind, as far away as it would go, and tried her hardest to glean a little pleasure from her weekend alone in an empty house.

By Monday she was, if not happy, then at least a little more prepared to face the day. She could only hope that her meeting with Ziva would be sooner rather than later, or the waiting would kill her. Work was slow that morning; they had finished a case recently, and with the team upstairs filling in paperwork, she had little to do but file old evidence and play around with her computer. The hours ticked by on the clock, and she was beginning to think that she would be on her own until she left, when the dreaded swish of the door reached her ears. Calming herself, she turned slowly, only to find Tony standing there looking puzzled and upset. Without a word, she got to her feet and hugged him tightly, knowing with instinctively that he was not as okay as he would like to seem.

After a long minute she pulled away and regarded him at arm's length. He looked back at her, a lopsided smile on his face, with just the faintest hint of red around his eyes.

"Abs –" He broke off, and shrugged. "I don't know how to tell you this. Ziva…"

She sat up at this, but if he noticed her sudden attentiveness he did not show it, continuing after a pause.

"She… she wanted to leave the team, Abs, wanted to leave NCIS. I wasn't supposed to hear, but she was talking to Gibbs about it and he got angry, you know how he does, and I couldn't help it. He went to talk to Vance about it, and when he got back he just told Ziva she couldn't, he wouldn't let her, and neither would the Director. And then she just stormed out, just got up and went."

His words tumbled out in a rush as if he could not get them out fast enough. His words cut into her heart, but she did not show it, comforted by the fact that Ziva had been turned down for a transfer. Her first instinct was to get up and go, to roam the streets looking for her missing agent, but there was unfinished business here first. She reached out for Tony's hand and looked at him once again, daring him to turn away. He did not, and she was glad.

"What happened?"

For once he did not try to evade the question. He let go of her hand and looked at the floor, whispering something that she almost did not catch.

"Tim…"

That was enough. She had thought that there had been something between the two of them, a while ago; but since then Tony had resumed his customary bullying, and she had lost interest, too busy with her own love life. That had been a mistake.

"What did you do, Tony?" she asked softly, half to herself. He caught her drift, though, and shook his head.

"I… God, Abby, how could I? I _love_ the idiot, and I had to go and mess it up like I always do. I put my foot in it again, but it matters this time! Why didn't I just tell him? We were so stupid… thought it'd stop people from finding out… I'd rather Gibbs had found out that we were together than to break up because of me. I'm a failure, Abby, I might as well admit it."

He looked at her, eyes full of anguish, and her heart went out to him.

"I don't know what he wants me to do. He just packed up and went. No goodbye, no nothing. And this morning… he's just acting like it never happened. What does he want from me? I can't apologise if he won't even admit it ever happened."

With that last he slammed his fist into the wall, barely missing some piece of equipment, but she did not chastise him for it. Taking a deep breath, she began.

"I know how it feels, Tony. Really I do. Ziva… she wanted to leave because of me. We broke up. It wasn't my fault, I think, but it wasn't exactly hers either… I just keep wondering what else I could have done, should have done to stop this happening. So now… now I'm going to find her, and try to make up for it, somehow. And you – "

She broke off, and touched his shoulder affectionately, trying to comfort him in some little way.

"You need to talk to Timmy."

She held up a hand as he opened his mouth to protest.

"I know, I know, he won't talk to you. But he'll talk to me."

Reaching over, she picked up the phone, and dialled McGee's cell. It didn't take her long to convince him to come and see her, and she put the phone down, gesturing hastily to Tony.

"Go over there. Don't let him see you until he's inside. I promise you you'll get to talk to him."

He did exactly as she asked, and soon the door opened again, heralding the arrival of McGee. She smiled at him sunnily.

"Hey! Got a computer problem. You'll know how to fix it, won't you?"

He nodded, and moved towards the machine, only realising that there was another person there after the door had been locked behind him.

She found Ziva sitting on a bench a little way down the road from the NCIS building. She stood a little way away, uncertain how to approach her, and realising she was still wearing her lab coat. Ever alert, the Israeli looked up and caught her gaze, something like fear passing over her face momentarily. Then she sighed and looked at the floor once again.

"I suppose you want to talk about Friday."

Abby smiled awkwardly, and moved towards her.

"May I?" she asked hesitantly, indicating the seat beside her.

Ziva nodded.

"We may be here for some time, I fear."

The two women sat side by side in silence, watching the cars speed past. It was many minutes before either spoke.

"I'm sorry."

They said the eternal words almost simultaneously, followed by almost identical looks of embarrassment. Then Ziva began to laugh, a clear peal ringing out even as the tears ran down her cheeks. It was infectious and Abby found herself joining in, despite her sadness. They laughed together until they could laugh no more, and returned to silence again, as the tear tracks dried on their cheeks. Neither could have said how it happened, but after a while they found themselves holding hands, quite against either's intentions. Abby smiled uncertainly at her friend – lover? ex-lover? – not knowing what to do or what to say. Ziva seemed to be waiting for her to speak, though, so she cleared her throat.

"I – I miss you. I don't think I can live without you, and I'm sorry if that scares you, but it's the truth. I don't want anyone else, certainly not McGee. He's got – he's got his own problems."

Ziva looked up at this questioningly, but she stumbled on.

"I don't care if you can't tell me how you feel. I don't care how inarticulate you are, I still want you. How can I say this? I love you, Ziva, and I'd rather be with you than anyone else, however they would hypothetically treat me."

She didn't know what she expected next. She certainly didn't anticipate Ziva resting her head on her shoulder in a gesture of affection quite unlike anything they'd shared before. For a moment, she did not know what to do. Then, carefully, she tilted her head to one side until it was resting on her partner's. They stayed like that for a long time, until a car horn hooted at them, jolting them to their senses.

The two smiled at each other tentatively, not quite sure what decision, if any, had been reached. A moment late Ziva reached for Abby's hand, pulling her to her feet.

"Now we return to work. And… we try. All we can do is try."

She kissed her delicately on the cheek, and led her back down the street towards NCIS, a small grin on both of their faces.

(A/N: I'm not going to shamelessly beg for reviews... yet. Next chapter is the last chapter, for anyone wondering.)


	5. Chapter 5

(A/N: God, it's been a long time. I'm overwhelmed with guilt right now; I was asked to write a Tony/McGee fic far too long ago and I still haven't fulfilled my promise. But I can only hope that finally having got the energy together to finish this I might be able to start writing again. I'm warning you now, this is not happy-clappy. It's... ambiguous, and a bit of a cop-out, if I'm honest. I know people wanted a happy ending, but this is how I needed it to go. Hopefully I'll have something cheerier up soon. So enjoy, or not.)

_And I wonder if you know_

_That I never understood_

_That although you said you'd go_

_Until you did_

_I never thought you would_

At the sight of the other agent, McGee turned on his heel and walked as calmly as he could manage back to the door, knowing before he got there that it would be locked. Tony watched him go, heart heavy in his chest. Now that they were alone together he wanted nothing more than to hold him and never let go, but he knew somehow that his partner wouldn't let him get too close. So instead he just looked on as McGee slammed his palms against the door, sheer desperation on his face. After some time had passed the younger man turned, very slowly, to face Tony.

"Well done, very clever. You might as well go on and say whatever it is you brought me down here for. I'm not going to be getting out of here any time soon."

His voice was flat, devoid of emotion; it scared Tony. Still, he knew he had to say something. For once in his life he would have to let his guard down and say what he was feeling. It was his only chance.

Fiddling anxiously with his cuffs, he cleared his throat and tried to look at Tim, finally fixing his eyes on a point just over his shoulder.

"I don't know what I can say to make you take me back. I don't know if there is anything I can say. I know why you did it, if that's any consolation. I know I've been a complete prat, not switching off after work... It hurt me to say those things to you, you know. The digs, the teasing, it really got to me. But then – I suppose I just got used to it, after a while. And I shouldn't have done that. You're far too important to me."

Tim snorted, very quietly. Tony felt the blood rush to his cheeks and pressed on, this time meeting the other man's eyes.

"You don't believe me. I know you don't, and I can't blame you. I've never been good at expressing myself. But I should have listened, all those times you said you'd leave. I should have trusted you, but I was too wrapped up in my own ego to seriously entertain the notion that you would really go. I just didn't think. And if there's any hope left for us, anything, you've got to believe me. I love you, Tim. I'm sorry. Please – please come back to me."

Even as he choked on his pleas he saw something akin to shock on his partner's face, soon masked as McGee shook his head impatiently.

"That's it? You dragged me down here under false pretences just to give me that rubbish? I suppose you thought I'd just melt at your feet with the right words. But you know as well as I do that I've heard it all before, Tony, and sorry just doesn't cut it any more."

He began to pace, avoiding the other's eyes.

"You have no idea what I've put up with from you. I used to be able to stand it, when you noticed straight away, when you apologised without me having to point out the glaringly obvious. But then you stopped, and I'm tired of having to tell you when you've been tactless and cruel for no reason at all. I love you, but I'm not sure that's enough. I'm not sure I want to be with someone who can only say they love me when the worst happens. I want to believe you – God knows I want to believe you – but you don't make it easy. How do I know you're not just saying it to get me back?"

He stopped then, giving a harsh, humourless laugh.

"And even now I want to apologise for assuming some level of importance. Do you see what you've done to me, Tony? It's not like my self-esteem was ever high in the first place, but you've pretty much sent me to rock bottom. I just can't take it any longer. If I'd known this was what was going to happen I'd have said "Fuck secrecy" a long time ago. That's how much you meant – mean – oh hell, I don't know any more. But I'd have been willing to come out to a hostile world and risk my job for you if it meant you'd stop with the insults. On some level I think I still would. I just don't know if you can stop."

By now Tony was crying, angry, bitter tears. He hadn't been prepared for this. It came as something of a shock to him when he drifted out of his self-pitying reverie to see McGee staring at him, contempt visible in every line on his face.

"You're not listening. Why do you never _listen_?"

And with that McGee ran at him, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him backwards into Abby's desk.

"I'm trying to tell you what the fuck is going on. I'm trying to salvage something out of the ruins of our fucked-up twisted relationship – and God knows why, because all you can do is stand there feeling sorry for yourself and not listening!"

Tony heard every word he said, mesmerised by the movement of his lips. And then out of habit and instinct and pain he pressed his own lips to them, kissing him fiercely, with no regard for the fact that they were at work. He didn't register the fact that Tim was kissing back until he stopped. The loss of contact made him look up at McGee, who had stumbled backwards. His hair was ever so slightly ruffled and he stared, wide-eyed, back at Tony, before straightening up and taking a deep, audible breath. When he spoke his words were careful, measured, with the full force of months of suppressed rage behind them.

"That's just your problem, Tony. You think you can make it all better just like that. And I'm not going to deny that I'd love to kiss and make up right here, right now, but I'm not going back to how we were. I need time to think. Hell, _you_ need time to think, whether you want it or not. Because this isn't a movie. I'm not going to give in to your undeniable charms just like that."

Wobbling slightly, the younger agent put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes in an attempt to steady himself. Through a film of tears Tony watched him open his eyes very slowly, and fix them on the computer in a perfect impression of Tony himself earlier. He would have laughed if it hadn't been so serious.

"What I'm trying to say is – I – I'm not saying no and I'm not saying yes. I can't let myself go through that again. I know you can be a better man than you've been managing to these past months. You just need to know that too."

In a cruelly film-like twist of fate McGee walked to the door just as it swished open to let a grinning Abby enter. He turned on his side to pass her quickly and the elevator doors had shut behind him before either of the people in the lab could stop him.

Head on one side, the forensic scientist looked at the agent, all traces of elation carefully hidden behind a mask of earnest enquiry.

"I'm guessing that didn't go as well as hoped?"

Not trusting himself with words, Tony shook his head. And for the second time that day he found himself engulfed in a hug by his friend. Closing his eyes and burying his head in her shoulder, he tried to hang onto Tim's last words. There was hope. He just had to show the world that he could change, and maybe everything would be right again. But as his tears began to dry despair threatened to overwhelm him. He had been trying to be that better man for so long. He could only hope that with so much to lose he'd find it in himself somehow.

(A/N: Like I said, all fingers crossed for a final end to this damn writer's block. Meanwhile, reviews always help! And good luck to anyone reading this who has exams. I do, and they're a pain in the neck.)


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